Living In The Past
by praiseprussia
Summary: Alfred's back from Afghanistan, but everything has changed. The world, his "friends", but most of all him. He doesn't even know who he is anymore. After all he had seen, after all he had done, he's not even sure if he wants to know. But with the past pulling at his heels he might have to face everything he had worked so hard to forget.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

 _Sirens were blaring. That's all he could remember. That and screaming. Some were screaming out of fear, others shouting orders. Why was everything a mess? They were trained for this for crying out loud! But that didn't matter right now, he had to find Matthew so they could help out. Dammit where was he? Matthew had been right beside him a minute ago, hadn't he? Alfred looked around and tried to comprehend the scene. On the cement walls that surrounded him blood was splattered everywhere, he could make out- oh god, was that... Brains? Alfred could feel himself gagging. He had been trained for this. He had been trained for this. HE HAD BEEN TRAINED FOR THIS SO WHY WAS IT SO HARD TO KEEP MOVING?_

 _Alfred shook his head, running past a number of doors until he came to a vast room. Empty except for the bodies of his old acquaintances, some he used to call friends. They were all dead. Or that's what he thought._

 _"Please... Soo-someone, anyone... Heelp" There was a boy on the floor, no older than 18, his right arm was gone and blood stained his brown hair. He was going to die; Alfred knew that for sure. The boy looked terrified. Running to the boy, Alfred threw himself on the floor. He couldn't remember the boy's name, much less who he used to be, but the pain Alfred felt for him was overwhelming enough to make him want to comfort the boy._

 _"It's okay, I'm here to help," Alfred stroked the unnamed boy's hair, the only gesture of care he could think of. "What's your name?"_

 _The boy shook on the floor, tears falling from his eyes. "Mom, mom is that you?"_

 _"N-no, kid, it's me, Alfred."_

 _A hint of recognition flickered in the boy's eyes. "Sir?" Horrible thoughts turned inside Alfred's mind._

 _"Siir.." The boy was going to die..._

 _"Sir..." And he couldn't do anything about it..._

"Sir! Please, your order's ready!"

Alfred snapped out of his trance, his breath ragged. "Sorry ma'am, I must've zoned out. I didn't get much sleep last night." He gave a weak smile to the old lady behind the counter.

"Don't worry about it, sweetie. You have a good day now"

Alfred took his food and left the apartment was only a few blocks away, basically a 10 minute walk, but each step he took felt like an hour. Knots turned in his stomach, he wanted to throw up. It had been three months since- since _then_ but the American could remember it as if it was yesterday. They were preventing him from sleeping, the dreams. The vivid recollection of the events that occurred _that day_ made sleeping a living hell and being awake even worse. He was only 22 but since he got back from Afghanistan, age loomed over him like his own personal cloud. Before, Alfred was a happy-go-lucky charmer, the only thing brighter than his baby blue eyes was his pearly white smile filled with hope. He would strut around, absorbing everything, ready for any challenge that came his way. He'd puff out his chest and take the world full force! Now, he couldn't force a smile properly. Bags hanged under his eyes, darkened by his hanging head. He couldn't look people straight in the eyes anymore, afraid of what _his_ might reveal. The puffing of his chest was quickly replaced by slouching shoulders and anxious scratching. His loud blabbering from the "good ol' days" was quickly replaced by eerie silence. Grasping for words was too hard, for what can be said to someone who has never experienced holding a dying loved one in their arms as they bled out, knowing fully that each second that past was they last they'd ever get. He wanted everything to go away, problems to disappear, but most of all he wanted to talk to Matthew.

 _Matthew..._ His brother's name lingered in Alfred's head but he quickly pushed it aside. He wasn't ready to face _that_ yet.

A sigh of relief escaped the American's lips as he stood in front of the doors of a large, grey building. Two sets of stairs and approximately 13 footsteps before he'd reach "home sweet home". He counted each step he took: A habit he picked up when he wanted to avoid thinking. _27... 28... 29..._ Almost there. His shoes tapping the cement floor echoed off the walls sounding all too familiar. _49... 50... 51..._ He tried to focus on the counting. _53... 54..._ A loud screeching-sort of sound came from the 2nd floor's door. Only 13 steps left before he could really "relax" if one could even call it that anymore. _64... 65... 66... 67_. Done. 67 steps. Just like everyday previous and everyday to come, it took Alfred 67 steps to reach "home". The consistence of the steps helped him forget, it gave him a reason to focus on something other than his thoughts.

The American jingled his keys in the keyhole a couple times before he was able to unlock the door. Taking his shoes off and shutting the door behind himself Alfred made his way to the kitchen where he threw his food in the fridge. It landed beside last night's dinner, and the day before's, and the day before that's. He had almost stopped eating everything, only snacking on enough to make it to the next day. It didn't matter anyway: He wasn't hungry.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

It had been 2 days since Alfred last went out; he didn't mind that though. He found comfort in the silence his apartment gave him, sitting in front of the window in his bedroom with a coffee mug in his hands. He didn't want to leave, to go prancing about outside, to do anything really. Nothing felt worth doing anymore. Truthfully, he just didn't want to exist. It wasn't like he was suicidal or anything but given an option between life and death, he would have undoubtedly chosen death. It really hurt: to keep on living but not have anything to live for. His life was in shambles and he didn't have anything or _anyone_ to help put it back together. Before he would have just gone to Matthew for support but that wasn't an option anymore.

Alfred's stomach dropped and a lump formed in his throat.

He hated thinking about his brother. He loved him unconditionally but every time he came to the American's mind it felt like a bag of bricks were on his chest, blocking him from breathing. Alfred clenched his mug, bringing it closer to his lips. He tried to push the thought away but it kept nagging.

The heat radiating from the cup warmed his nose and fogged his glasses. He sighed. He wanted to stay like this, just ignoring the world and the world ignoring him, but he knew; He knew it would never happen. Time went on and he'd eventually have to move from the window, and his pain would get worse or better, and he even might start to forget Afghanistan. He wouldn't have minded the last part so much but he doubted it would ever happen. His memories from there played on his eyelids like a movie on a screen every time he closed his eyes. And sometimes, even if he tried to stop it, he could still hear the screams of those around him, feel the tears stream down his face, feel Matthew's blood splashing across his face and body...

Anger flickered in the Americans eyes. Jumping from the window sill he threw his mug to the floor watching it shatter into a million little pieces. He let out a cry of frustration and fell to his knees looking at the mess he'd just made. He clenched his hair in his fists and let out another cry, this time tears dripping from his eyes. Why was he so _useless_?! It was all his fault! His brother was dead and he was here but it should have been the other way around! He was just so- so _useless_ , and stupid, and he should have been able to save Matthew but he couldn't and, God, everything hurt, and everything was wrong! He shouldn't be alive but he was and Matthew shouldn't be dead but he was!

Alfred rocked back and forth the tears falling harder and harder. He just sat there crying, crying for his brother, crying for the life he didn't get, and crying for the sake of crying. It had been a few days, almost a week since something like this had last happened. Even though it felt like some of the pain was released, each time it happened it somehow felt worse than the last.

After all his tears were cried out and his face was puffy and red, Alfred stood up. He slowly stumbled over his broken mess and made his way to his bed where he now spent most of his days. After all, if he was going to suffer he might as well suffer in the comfort of his own bed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

 _"Sir..."_

 _That was the last word the young boy uttered before his body went completely still. The last word he would ever say in the land of the living. It echoed in Alfred's mind, taunting him, blaming him. Alfred held the boy closer in his lap, though it would mean nothing since he was nothing more than a lifeless body now._

 _Alfred was frozen, unsure of what to do. His mind was racing, telling him to go, to keep moving, but his body couldn't move, he couldn't let go of the corpse that lay before him. Everything around him felt timeless. Silent. That was, until he felt a hand grab his shoulder._

 _Mostly confused, Alfred's head shot around to where he was grabbed. The hand that touched his shoulder was quickly touching his face._

 _"Oh thank god, oh thank god you're okay," the voice was breathless but it was Matthew's nonetheless. "We have to go_ now _." Matthew took his brother's arm and forced him up leaving the young boy's body on the ground. Matthew gestured for Alfred to be quiet._

 _"Look, we have to go, now! We're going to rendezvous with the others by the back entrance before more guys come this way." His brother's voice was harsher than Alfred expected._

 _"But-" Alfred bit his lip before he spoke more,_ he _was supposed to be the strong one, a brother that Matthew could rely on. "No you're right, lets go." Alfred pushed past his brother to lead but his head wasn't fully in it._

 _As the twins headed towards the door Alfred had first come from, neither of them noticed an unwanted stranger slip in through the broken window behind their backs. The man who came through the window readied his gun, a Kalashnikov Assault Rifle, and aimed it towards Alfred, his footsteps inching closer. He smiled thirstily at his prey, fingers hovering above the trigger. Before the man could shoot Matthew had noticed him._

 _"Alfred!" Matthew screamed his brother's name and tackled him to the ground, pain exploding in his lungs as a gunshot echoed through the room. Alfred was quick to react, adrenaline coursed through his body and he jumped up from the floor. Something wet had splashed across his face but he didn't notice it much, he pulled his gun out and shot the intruder twice in the head and once in the heart. A sigh escaped the American's lips as the man's body fell like a lump to the ground; It was hard taking a life but they were safe and that's what mattered. At least that's what he thought before reality hit him like a semi-truck. The sight that lay before him as he turned around was stained permanently into his memory. There his brother was, choking on his own blood in front of his eyes. The liquid flowed rapidly out his brother's chest and mouth as Matthew shook on the ground holding his throat._

 _"Oh god, oh god, OH GOD! Matthew, no!" Alfred fell to his knees and tried to stop the blood coming from his brother's wound but it wouldn't stop._

 _"Please, Matt, don't do this to me! I need you! God, knows how much I need you," Alfred readjusted his position to put more pressure on the bullet wound but nothing seemed to work. The American couldn't help but stare at his brother's broken image, so different from what it should be. Matthew's eyes were wide from fear but they looked distant, almost as if he couldn't see what was in front of him. Alfred couldn't stand the sight. Tears started to blind his eyes, first they were just drops, then they were a constant stream. Matthew's body slowly stopped moving, the only way to tell he was still alive was the sounds of his choking but even those started to die out too._

 _Alfred gave up on the wound to wrap his arms around his brother pulling Matthew up to his chest. These were the last moments he would ever get with Matthew so he might as well make them worth it._

 _Sobs broke through the American's words as he spoke, "I'm sorry... I'm so, so sorry," he whispered beside Matthew's ear, "God, I'm sorry. This shouldn't have happened! I- I love you, I hope you know that." As the words escaped his lips Alfred could feel his brother's body go limp once and for all._

Alfred shot up in bed clutching his sweat drenched shirt. He kicked off his blanket as if it were plagued and pushed away the pillow he was subconsciously clinging onto earlier. Breathing hard, Alfred adjusted his position in bed to hold his head in his hands. His heart was aching and it felt like there was an endless pit at the bottom of his stomach. Alfred wanted to throw up, every time the memory of that event replayed in his mind he felt worse and worse.

After a while of just sitting in silence, Alfred's heart started to pace normally again. He looked over at the clock on his beside table where the time "3:47am" shined brightly against the surrounding darkness. The American sighed heavily and threw his legs over the bed's side. It didn't even matter what time it was so it didn't matter if he checked the clock or not. He did nothing all day so its not like he needed to watch the clock. He didn't really have anything keeping him going.

Alfred stood up and walked to the doorway which connected his bedroom to his bathroom. He took off his shirt and threw it in the hamper while he stared at himself in the mirror. It looked like hell had taken over his body, he placed his hand above his heart and could feel it beating slightly. The area he covered with his hand wasn't physically injured but it might as well have been; it hurt so bad that sometimes he wished he could just reach inside and rip out the source of all the pain.

Alfred continued to examine himself. Under his eyes were baggy, his skin sunken in slightly, his hair was dull and the colour faded. He tried to stare himself in the eyes, but he couldn't bring himself to do it.

Before, when everything was okay, Alfred and Matthew looked exactly alike, the only difference was the hair and eye colour. Now, one couldn't even tell if they were ever truly related. It was probably better this way though. Now, Alfred could look in the mirror again without the force of a thousand tons worth of guilt pushing him to the brink of despair.

The American brushed the wall beside him, flicking off the light. He stumbled out the door making his way back beneath the covers. It was too hot for blankets but he didn't mind the extra heat it produced. Alfred groaned internally and rolled over in the bed. If he were to never wake up tomorrow, he honestly wouldn't have minded. It probably would have saved him a lot of grief anyways; it's not like anyone _needed_ him to be alive right now.


End file.
